


The False Princess

by destinies



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Eventual Romance, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, forced consummation, twin swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 09:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies
Summary: In which Cardan Greenbriar is found during the bloody coronation and made to crown his brother, Balekin.In which Madoc's reward for orchestrating a coup is a royal marriage for his daughter.In which Jude Duarte isn't having it. Any of it.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 95
Kudos: 443





	1. The Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks so much to [Stephanie](https://twitter.com/petites_verites) for betaing and [Nicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmourning) for reading this over and telling me that it is valid!
> 
> Be aware that this story _will_ eventually (not right away) contain a witnessed marriage consummation in which _neither_ party is a willing participant, with lasting traumatic effects. There will be an additional heads up on that chapter, but **if you avoid fics featuring anything less than total enthusiastic consent** , you may want to steer clear of this one. And if you're worried, please feel free to contact me with any questions.
> 
> We're picking up in the middle of chapter 19 of _The Cruel Prince_. Are you ready? And... go!

They find Cardan, his face half-hidden by a flimsy silver fox mask. The crowd holds its breath as two knights drag him onto the dias to stand beside Balekin. He slips, once, on the blood of his siblings but there are hands on all sides to steady him. A couple of raven feathers fall from his doublet. Madoc steps aside, allowing him to pass.

As Cardan is pulled forward, I am trying to melt into the back of the room. As much as I loathe him, I do not want to watch him die as his siblings did. Nor do I want to be seen. If Cardan agrees to crown Balekin, the revelry will continue; if he doesn’t, there will be rioting. But it is difficult to move through the crowd. The Folk press forward all around me, eager to see whether Cardan will agree to crown Balekin, or whether this will be the end of him, and, with him, the end of the Greenbriar line. The end of the Blood Crown’s reign.

Cardan blinks out at the room from the dais. I remember how drunk he was when we danced. Drunk enough to numb him to horror now. The blood and the bodies do not seem to faze him. That should make him a fool, but I am almost envious. I am only numb because I have felt too much to keep feeling anything at all.

“Well, brother, we both know how this must end,” Balekin says, voice ringing through the burgh, a theatrical mockery of true regality.

The danger Cardan is in doesn’t seem to sober him, nor do Balekin’s words. Still, he shakes his head and makes an attempt at drawing himself up.

“Release me,” he says to the knights gripping his arms, a familiar haughtiness in his tone. “Release me so that I may bargain with my dignity intact.”

Balekin sneers. “You are in no position to negotiate.”

“Really?” says Cardan, looking around at all the very sharp blades pointed at him. “It seems to me, _brother_ , that I am the last of the Greenbriar line standing, yourself excluded. If you kill me, there will be none left to crown you.” His eyes glitter as he contemplates the assembled crowd. “And I do not think you’ll like what will happen when all present are released from their vows.”

Balekin’s face goes hard and angry for a moment before he tames it into a mask of indifference. He nods at the knights, who let Cardan go. “Very well. Name your price.”

“My life, first,” says Cardan, swaying but remaining on his feet. “That once you are crowned you will neither kill me with your own hand nor order me killed. Nor will you harm me, or give an order that will result in my being harmed. Can you agree it?”

There are a couple of titters from the assembled crowd. Balekin says, “What you must think of me, brother.”

“My worries are well-founded,” says Cardan, diplomatically for someone who stands among corpses. But I realize what this means—he is negotiating for his freedom. If Balekin agrees, he can never strike him or order a servant to beat him again.

Balekin, too, must realize this. He looks displeased, but he can’t deny such a reasonable request, not in front of an audience. “Your life and your health will be yours.”

I am a little impressed that he’s managed to strike such a desirable bargain while drunk, and a little envious that he has managed to eliminate a source of terror from his life. If only all tormentors could be similarly promised away.

“Hollow Hall I would have as well,” Cardan continues. “Surely you won’t mind parting with it once you have a palace to dwell in. I would have it, and all within it, save for those effects that are yours.”

“It is agreed.” Balekin’s mouth twists, but he does say it.

Cardan shakes his head, as though he is trying to rouse himself from a stupor. “That’s all,” he says. “Let’s have it done with.”

I don’t watch as Balekin kneels in the gore, don’t watch as Cardan places the crown on his head and intones the words that will make him High King. I already know what will happen. While everyone is looking the other way, I slip into the palace, just one mortal girl in a blood-spattered dress.

Elfhame will have its new king. The Greenbriar line will go on. The revelry will go on.

But I am not sure that I will.

* * *

I do not want to go home. I cannot go home. I cannot look Madoc in the eye yet, not after what he has done. And Taryn will be there, too. Taryn, who, if my suspicions are correct, stood by and allowed me to play the fool with Locke.

Instead, I sneak deeper into the palace, to a tunnel with packed-dirt walls that will lead me to the Court of Shadows, carved from the earth beneath the palace. When I arrive, it is empty but for me. I’m not sure when anyone else will arrive, if they will at all. I saw the Ghost captured, but I lost track of the Roach and the Bomb in the crowd.

Prince Dain is dead, and he will not be able to honor his bargain with me. There will be no post as a spy, no guarantee of a position at court. I don’t even know if his geas outlasted his death. It’s tempting to sit down in one of the wooden chairs, put my head in my hands, and let my grief wash over me, but I know that if I stop moving I will never start again. Instead, I wander the Court of Shadows, opening doors and rifling through papers, looking for anything that might help me. I find provisions and weapons, a dusty training room, a place to sleep, but nothing I could leverage in this strange, chaotic new world.

It takes only a glimpse of Dain’s handwriting on a scroll to remind me that he is not coming back. Here is his desk, in an office that must have been his, and a chair he will never sit in again. Dain is gone. Eldred is gone. His sisters, gone. Cardan—who knows, now that Balekin has the crown on his head. Perhaps Balekin will decide he’s unnecessary and send him far away.

Maybe that thought should bring me comfort, but I am too overwhelmed to feel anything but an odd, keen sense of grief. Finally, I sit in Dain’s chair.

There has to be something to do. There has to be some way to fix it.

I am roused from my stupor by a crashing from the other room. Someone is back. At least one member of the Court of Shadows has survived. Going by their raised voices—two voices, both male—it’s the Roach and the Ghost.

I stand and leave Dain’s office. The Ghost has been injured and blood trickles down his leg, but I am glad to see them both alive. Gladder than they are to see me.

“Why aren’t you with your family?” he asks, angrier than I have ever seen him. I have always thought of him as perfectly calm, but now he’s anything but calm. Neither is the Roach, who seems to have smashed several jars that had been sitting on the bookshelf. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

I stand my ground, but I hold my hands up so he can see that I hold no weapon. “I wanted Dain on the throne as much as any of you. I had no idea what Madoc was going to do.”

It’s the truth, although I can’t help but feel that I might have had an idea if only I’d been paying more attention. I remember the messenger I’d shot coming into the throne room, whom I knew as one of Madoc’s spies. I remember Madoc’s long conversation with Balekin in his office. But I never thought Madoc would ally with Balekin over Dain.

I didn’t think Madoc even _liked_ Balekin.

The Ghost’s eyes narrow. “She could be lying. This might be a trap.”

“Peace,” says the Roach. “We are all still reeling. There is no sense in us being at each other’s throats.”

He pulls out a chair at the table in the middle of the lair, and sits. The Ghost scowls, but then he follows. And once they are seated, I sit too. For a long stretch, none of us speak.

“Something else is going on,” I say, rubbing my temples. I am still trying to make sense of everything I heard and saw and hope that working through it all aloud might help. “There’s no reason for Madoc to choose to ally with Balekin over Dain.”

“There’s plenty of reasons,” the Roach says, rubbing his chin. “Maybe Balekin promised him something.”

“Promised what?”

“Anything.” The Ghost’s voice is low, still angry. “You would know better than we do.”

“I don’t, but there has to be something,” I say. “If Balekin has offered Madoc some kind of reward, maybe we can get a cut. Likelier he has given Madoc an opening that he doesn’t recognize, so maybe we slip through it first. There has to be some way to turn the situation to our advantage.”

The Ghost snorts. “I’m not about to swear myself into Balekin’s service.”

“Balekin can’t be High King,” I insist.

The Roach looks at me dolefully. “Well, he is.”

“I can’t imagine Madoc putting him there without some other plan in mind. Madoc was—” I shake my head, trying to forget all of the times I saw Madoc speaking with Dain. “Balekin wouldn’t be his first choice.”

“Again, that hardly matters. Madoc aided Balekin, and now Balekin wears the crown.”

“I can’t imagine Madoc letting him wear it for long.” I frown, running my thumb over my missing fingertip. There is a responsive throb of pain from the stab wound in my palm. The plan that comes to mind isn’t exactly brilliant, but it is _a_ plan, which is more than I had before they came in. “Give me a day to figure out what Madoc wants and whether there is any place for us in his design. I’ll come back, alone. Until then, you can do whatever you want. You’ll probably have the run of the palace.”

The Roach gives me a meaningful look. “In times like these, things go missing.”

“Even if you don’t get paid, you can still get rich,” I affirm. “Twenty-four hours. The three princesses are dead. I’m sure they won’t mind if someone lifts their jewels.”

It seems crude to talk like this, in the language of thieves, with their deaths so near. I didn’t know any of the princesses well, but Rhyia was Vivi’s only friend in Faerie, and now she’s gone. Still, I’m not wrong. A dead girl won’t notice a missing necklace. No doubt the Roach and the Ghost would know better what to do with valuables that would otherwise be locked up in vaults.

The Roach gives me one of his black-lipped grins. “You’re not bad, you know. You can strike a bargain.”

“But she can lie,” adds the Ghost, eyeing me. “She might show up with a half-dozen soldiers at her back.”

I try not to take it personally. “I don’t think Prince Dain’s secrets matter much now that he’s dead.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Then surprise me.”

He shrugs, but says nothing.

I sigh. “I will _swear_ to show up alone, and if I break that promise you can kill me where I stand, wherever I stand. I’d have to be really stupid to piss off a sharpshooter, and I’m not trying to make more enemies. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but I feel like we’re going to need all the help we can get.” I look at them. “Can you agree it? One day.”

They agree, even though I’m not sure they will. I don’t exactly have leverage, or anything concrete to offer them. But like rabbits who’ve fled into the warren with hunters on their heels, we are all feeling trapped.

* * *

With that business concluded, I can no longer avoid going home, not without arousing suspicion. I walk there, weary, under a canopy of uncaring stars, wondering what I’ll find. Madoc triumphant? Bewildered sisters who’ve been spared the horrible spectacle of the coronation? A gloating Locke, with Taryn’s hand in marriage as his prize?

Instead, when I walk through the door, I hear muffled sounds from the parlor. At first I think they’re whimpers, and wonder if someone was hurt. My steps drag, but I quicken them as I move toward the sounds.

Inside the parlor, Vivi is trying to console a weeping Taryn. She looks up when she sees me. “You’re here,” she says. “We thought you might’ve—”

“I’m fine. Just got stuck in the crowd,” I say quickly. I sit down in one of the chairs and look at Taryn, who seems uninjured if disconsolate. “What happened?”

Taryn shakes her head, not even bothering to pick it up.

“You have to talk some sense into Dad,” Vivi says angrily. “He’s denied Locke permission to marry Taryn.”

I feel a twinge of cold satisfaction. I look at Taryn. “Good. I can’t imagine Locke impressing him.”

“No,” Taryn says angrily. “You don’t understand.”

She falls into weeping again instead of explaining, so instead I look to Vivi, who sighs. “Madoc and Balekin have an agreement. They’ve already made a marriage for her.”

I goggle at her. “She’s going to marry _Balekin_?”

Vivi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like Balekin would want a mortal queen. No. She’s going to marry Prince Cardan.”

Horror crashes over me like a wave. I know it is not just the horror of this. It is the horror of the evening, of the sound of the sword snapping Prince Dain’s ribs, of Eldred dissolving into moths as he died, of Balekin kneeling on the blood-soaked dais as Cardan placed the crown on his head. But for now, it all narrows down to a beam, illuminating this single moment.

I’m pissed at Taryn, but I don’t want her given away to Cardan. I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.

I find my voice, but it’s all croaky. “She can’t.”

“Well, right now, the only people who know that are you, me, and Taryn. Everybody else has lost their goddamn minds.”

“Oriana?”

Vivi shrugs. “On paper it _is_ a good match. But Taryn’s told me how awful he is to you guys.”

“He’s awful _in general_.” And while Vivi’s friendship with Cardan’s sister has generally spared her from said awfulness, it’s true. He wouldn’t be a good husband to Taryn. I can’t imagine him being a good husband to _anyone_.

Besides that, this is a far cry from the love marriage Taryn was hoping for. She cries harder, and Vivi glares at me. “I don’t think you’re helping.”

I’m not sure I have a talent for helping. I couldn’t help Dain. But I have other talents, and if I can use them to help my sister, I will. Even if I’m not sure anymore that she’d do the same for me.

“Fine.” I stand up. “I’m going to talk to Madoc.”

“And say what?”

I straighten out my bloodstained skirt. “I don’t know yet. But I’ve had enough of watching as things fall apart.”

* * *

I find Madoc in his office. He is frowning over a map of the Isles of Elfhame, and beyond; the lower courts on the eastern shore of North America. I wonder if he is already planning his wars—if the only price for putting a crown on Balekin’s head was the freedom to wage them.

How many times have I been in this very room with no idea what he was planning? How many papers did I glimpse, how many snatches of conversation did I overhear? Will there ever be a day that passes where I am not kicking myself for being so blind?

The floorboards creak under my feet. He looks up. “Jude,” he says, surprised. “When you were separated from us, I feared—”

“I’m fine,” I say sharply. I know I don’t look fine, with my hair disarranged and my dress torn and dirty. It must seem to him like I’ve been crawling through mud. And let him think that. Let him wonder what I had to do to get away from the mess he created. “But I don’t think anyone else can really say that.”

A frown tugs at his mouth, but he waits for me to elaborate.

I am angry, I realize. I am always angry, but I am angrier now at just seeing Madoc in his office, totally normal, as if the world hasn’t fallen apart. “The whole royal family is dead, for one. And Taryn won’t stop crying because she doesn’t get to marry the guy she likes. So no, nobody else is fine.”

He sighs. “I had it from the boy how he toyed with you and your sister. I didn’t think you would object to my denying him your sister’s hand.”

“Forget about that.” My cheeks sting. I don’t want Madoc to know that Locke played Taryn and me against each other. I don’t want him to think of me as a foolish girl so taken in by simple tricks. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t believe she and Locke are well-suited,” he says, with a finality that suggests he is passing judgment.

“And Prince Cardan is better?” I demand.

“I would never make that claim.”

“Then why?” I ask, crossing to his desk and laying my hands right down on his map. “She can’t marry Cardan. He’s terrible, and he’ll make her miserable. Don’t you want her to be happy?”

“I am thinking only of her happiness.”

“Somehow I find that really hard to believe,” I scoff.

“None of you may know it now,” Madoc says. “It may not be clear for some time. But Taryn has a role to play. As do you. As do we all.”

“Your role was to kill the Crown Prince.”

He grimaces, but not out of regret for his actions. If anything, I’d imagine he believes I’m impugning his honor. “I would have spared you the sight. You were all meant to have left the room.”

“Well, I saw it.” My voice rises in my anger. “You betrayed Prince Dain, and for what? So you could make Taryn a princess? So you would be given free rein to wage war?”

“This wasn’t the outcome I intended.” He looks tired. Good. I am glad to know that not everything went according to plan, even if I have no idea what his original plan was meant to be.

“Do you like it?”

He looks at me, curious.

“The outcome,” I clarify. “I remember my lessons. Plan for every outcome. Ensure there are multiple ways to win.” I fold my arms. “So is this winning? Did you win?”

Madoc nods, his mouth in a tight line. “In time, I will,” he says. “The board is set, Jude, although you may not see it.”

This is probably the part where I ask him to confide in me, but I am far too angry for that. “Are you asking me to trust you?”

He hesitates before he responds. “You must feel that you have little reason to.”

“Dain is dead, Eldred is dead, the princesses are dead, and Taryn is miserable.” And my parents have been dead for years. I turn to go, but pause in the doorway. “Whatever you’re getting out of this, I hope it was worth it.”


	2. The Plan

I open the door to my sister’s room without knocking. Taryn is lying out on her bed on her stomach, clutching tightly to a pillow. The ruffles of her ornate dress from the coronation are illuminated in a pool of moonlight. She looks like a desolate princess in a fairytale, which, I guess, is what she’s supposed to be soon.

She turns her head toward me, eyes red from weeping. “Jude.”

“You owe me an explanation,” I say.

Taryn sits up, still holding the pillow like it can protect her from my anger. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, miserably. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I cross to her bed and sit down at the end. “Are you sorry?” I demand. “Did you like watching him string me along? Did you enjoy watching me play the fool?”

It doesn’t feel fair, kicking her while she’s down, but life isn’t fair. We know that best. Maybe, just maybe, I know it even better.

“He made me promise,” Taryn returns. “He wanted me to prove I was like them. I didn’t know what he planned to do. I didn’t think it would go as far as it did.” She pauses, wringing her hands. “Jude, I wanted to tell you so many times.”

“But are you sorry?”

She looks down at the pillow in her arms.

“You’re sorry because it didn’t work,” I say for her. “If it had worked you wouldn’t be sorry.”

“I hated every minute of it.”

“But it would have been worth it.”

More worth it than me. That’s what hurts the most, although speaking it aloud would hurt even more. I understand why Locke would choose Taryn over me, when I am a liar and a murderer and take poison before bed. But in Faerie, Taryn and I have always chosen each other. Until now.

Taryn shakes her head, but she doesn’t contradict me. How can she? We’re good at lying to the Folk, but bad at lying to each other. At least I thought we were. I’m not so sure anymore.

But I can’t let my anger get the better of me, even though it still smolders in my stomach, hot coals ready for stoking. I haven’t come here to gloat over the tragic end to Locke’s scheming and Taryn’s deception. I’ve come here because, after pacing up and down the hallway for so long that the carpet’s nearly worn through, with the taste of my nightly poisons fresh in my mouth, I finally have my plan.

I lean forward and ask, “Do you love him?”

Taryn looks at me curiously, her eyes red from weeping. She must be wondering why I want to know when it hardly matters now. Then, she gives me a short, sharp nod.

“Then marry him. Tonight, if you can.”

I’m pretty sure it can be managed. At least, I think it can. I know more about the rules of marriage among the Folk than I do the ceremony, but I’m certain Locke can pull something together. He’s awful and faithless, but he doesn’t lack cleverness. Besides, he loves a good story.

And there is no better story than an elopement in the small hours of the day, when the forests are hushed and the Folk are slumbering. There is no better story than stealing the bride of a wicked prince out from under his nose.

Taryn frowns. I know she thinks I’m playing her. She deserves it, after what she and Locke conspired to do. But this is more important. “What are you talking about?”

“I need you to marry Locke.” I draw a breath. “Because I’m going to marry Cardan.”

Her brown eyes go wide. “Jude, no.”

“Do you mean that or are you saying it because you think you have to?”

Taryn flinches. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can match my will to Cardan’s. If he wants to make me miserable, he will be just as miserable every single day. And I don’t mind.” I scratch my knee through my dress. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s crazy. You’re not making any sense.”

“Fine. You’d mind a lot more than I do, is what I mean. And you love someone else enough to marry him. I don’t have anyone I love.”

Taryn presses her mouth into a flat line. “I thought you wanted to be a knight, not a princess.”

She’s right. I did want to be a knight. I wanted to prove my worth to the gentry in a way that they couldn’t ignore. When that failed, Dain offered me a chance to prove myself another way, still through skill, still through earning my place.

Now I guess I’m stealing that place through trickery. Weirdly, I feel like the Folk might applaud me for that above all.

And although I don’t really want to admit it, the title holds some appeal. I have seen how the crowd hushes and parts for Cardan at every revel, dutifully bowing their heads. What a coup it would be for the gentry to bow to a mortal girl beside him.

“I’m not a knight, am I?” I ask, instead of telling Taryn any of this. “Who knows if Madoc will ever let me try for knighthood. This way both our futures will be secure and you’ll get to be with the person you love. As long as you’re alive, if you and Locke had planned to stay married that long.”

Taryn nods. “That’s what we agreed.”

It seems stupid to believe a person who found a way to toy with one’s own sister would agree to a lifelong marriage without a catch, but I’m not really in a position to argue. “Then go to him. Wed him and swear him to secrecy. If you marry him, you can’t marry Cardan without being forsworn. On the day of the wedding, I’ll stand and say the words in your place.”

“And then what?”

“Everyone will think Madoc’s kept his deal with Balekin, but I’m not bound by my word at all. And if Cardan swears to you while making his vows to me, he’ll have sworn falsely, even if he believes he’s told the truth.” I shrug. “Madoc has some plan. If he lets us in on it, and if we can keep up the ruse, we can wait to reveal it when it’s most convenient. But I won’t be bound to Cardan, not really. It’ll be fine.”

Taryn looks skeptical.

“It’ll be fine,” I repeat. I look out her window. The night seems calm, but I can see wind beginning to whip the trees beyond the Lake of Masks. Elfhame is beholden to Balekin now, and his will is violent and capricious. “You should go now, before I change my mind.”

She nods, and climbs off of the bed, skirts rustling as she goes to her wardrobe and picks out a simpler dress, something more suited to climbing down walls and meeting lovers. Holding it in her hands, she looks back at me. “Thank you, Jude.”

“Don’t thank me.” I push up off the bed. I am so achingly tired.

“Then—I’m sorry.”

I don’t reply. I just carry the apology back to my room and hold it close. I know she only said it because she feels like she owes me.

I’m glad I heard it anyway.

* * *

The next morning, Taryn is quiet at the breakfast table, pale and tired-looking. But when Madoc and Oriana are not looking, given over to discussing the festivities that are apparently still happening in spite of all the murder, she flashes me a tight smile, and I know she’s gone through with her part of the plan.

It’s weird to sit across from her and know she’s married now. My twin sister, married. To _Locke_ , who until yesterday I was hoping would sweep me off my feet at the coronation.

“I don’t get it,” Vivi says, watching Madoc and Oriana talk and Oak pick at his food. “How can they act like everything’s normal? Nothing about what happened last night was normal.”

I’m not sure how much Vivi knows about what happened last night. None of them were there. They could have heard anything. They only _know_ the world turned upside down; they didn’t see it bleed. Part of me is jealous, but another part is grateful to be awake to the horror, even though I have been taking a honey cake apart with my hands instead of eating it. I keep looking at the knife in the red currant jam and thinking of how blood drips off steel.

Taryn says quietly, “If you don’t act like it’s normal, everything falls apart.”

I glance at her, startled. I’ve often thought that, but I’ve never said it out loud.

“Well, fine.” Vivi’s chair groans against the floor as she pushes it out from the table. “But I don’t have to play along.”

The sound makes Madoc and Oriana stop talking. “Where are you going?” Oriana asks.

“Somewhere not here,” Vivi says, and then she turns on her heel and leaves. I wonder if she’ll use this as her excuse to visit Heather in the mortal world and stay there for good. I hope not. She’s my sister, and I want to think she’ll say goodbye.

“I should go—” Taryn begins, at the same time as I wipe the crumbs on my napkin and say, “Vivi—”

Madoc waves his dismissal. “The revel begins at twilight,” he tells us. “You’ll be expected to attend.”

“We’ll be there,” I say. Taryn’s hands bunch in her skirt, but she says nothing.

As soon as we are out of the dining room, I pull her aside into a small reading room.

“Is it done?” I ask in a fierce whisper.

“Yes, it’s done.” She brightens. “When I snuck out last night, all the isles were so beautiful, Jude. It was—”

“Great,” I say flatly. “Did you swear him to secrecy?”

She pouts, but replies, “He promised not to tell a soul.”

“Okay.” I don’t know what wording he used, if there is a way for Locke to worm his way out of the promise. Maybe I should have gone with Taryn, but I don’t think I could have stomached it. I rub my temples. “So now you can’t marry Cardan. And to keep Madoc from getting pissed at you, you don’t say anything. Got it?”

Taryn looks down. “I know you’re mad,” she says, “but thank you. I mean it.”

“Locke couldn’t even marry you without trying to seduce me first. I don’t think he’s going to make you happy.” I sigh. “But if that’s what you want, then fine. Be happily miserable. I just need one favor.”

“Anything, Jude.” Taryn speaks softly, but she is so bright, so incandescently happy, that it hurts to look at her. “Anything, anything.”

“When there’s talk of a dowry—if a kingdom isn’t enough of a dowry—ask Madoc to send a few of the servants with you to Hollow Hall. There are a lot of glamoured mortals there now, and—” I swallow down the memory of Sophie carefully dusting off stones before dropping them in her pockets, of drowned Sophie at the coronation. “They—I can’t—”

Taryn leans forward and squeezes my hands. I nearly recoil from her, but catch myself. “All right,” she says. “If Prince Cardan is going to take a mortal wife, then he should at least do her the courtesy of not keeping mortal servants. I’ll ask.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I doubt Cardan ever thinks of courtesy, but Madoc, who has taken a mortal wife and keeps no mortal servants, would likely mind. I remember Hollow Hall as I last saw it, filled with all those haunted, sunken faces, and it is dawning on me suddenly that I will have to _live_ there.

What am I doing?

Whatever it is, it can’t be undone now. Taryn is married to Locke, and I can’t avoid pretending to marry Cardan in her place without spoiling whatever pact Balekin made with Madoc—which probably has some great cost I don’t know about. I breathe out through my nose.

“We should get changed,” Taryn says, and I am sure she’s already thinking about which lovely gown she’ll wear to impress Locke, while I am thinking of the estate that will become my prison.

But these are the die that have been cast. All we can do is roll with them.

* * *

Maybe it’s weird that the revels go on, but somehow that’s the most normal thing about any of this. Sure, most of the royal family was slaughtered just the day before, but the Folk never let anything stand in the way of a good time. Revelry was promised, and revelry will be had.

As always, the first thing we do when we get to court is greet the king. But the High King is no longer Eldred, with his stooped shoulders and gold-spun hair, and even though I know that, it is still a shock to see Balekin sitting in his place with the oak-leaf crown on his brow. The dais around him has been scrubbed clean of blood, and I find myself thinking once again of human servants with raw hands, cracked skin.

Taryn and I step forward as one. She is lovely, with her hair pinned up and wrapped in a net of pearls, her dress a favorite, gold borders on the collars and sleeves that play against fabric which is green or blue depending on how the light hits it. I am wearing a green gown too, one Tatterfell’s clever fingers stitched with fresh embroidery of golden leaves, but mine is older, since I have no one to impress. A green ribbon hides the bruises on my throat.

We bow before Balekin. I hope he doesn’t notice how I barely suppress a flinch when his thorn-spiked hands touch my hair. It is difficult to forget the swordpoint sinking into Elowyn’s throat, or Eldred dissolving into moths as he was run through. It is difficult to forget those hands unbuckling his belt and handing it to a human servant so Cardan could be beaten. My knives are unseen, strapped to my thigh, tucked in bodice and boot, but I am glad of them all the same.

When we rise, he asks, “Which of you is soon to be my sister?”

We are both surprised, but Taryn composes herself, bobbing a quick curtsy. “I am, Your Majesty.”

Never have I been so glad that we can lie.

He takes a moment to look her over. His lips pull back from his teeth in a way I find all too familiar. Now that he’s High King, he must have a lot to smile about. “Such uncanny mortal girls,” he muses, “raised among the Folk, instructed in our ways. My brother will make a poor husband for you, child. I had thought perhaps your sister might tame him, as it was she who bested him at the tournament, but your father indicated he had other designs for her. Thus, the burden falls upon you.”

There is so much about this little speech that surprises me. Madoc didn’t tell me about any plans. I didn’t think Balekin knew who I was, much less that he was paying close attention to the people Cardan fought with. I figured there had to be a lot of those.

“But you will find satisfaction with your new station,” Balekin continues. “And I am sure we will all be pleased by your addition to the Greenbriar line.”

With that, we are dismissed, and we hurry our curtsies and leave the dais. Taryn loops her arm through mine. “That was scary,” she whispers.

“As long as he doesn’t find out,” I say. Something about Balekin’s wording unnerves me, but I can’t put my finger on just what. “We’re fine.”

Taryn nods, but she bites her lip. “I want to find Locke,” she says. “He said he would meet me. And people know—I figure as long as we’re discreet—”

I don’t want to hear about Locke. “Fine.”

“What will you do?”

I look out at the crowd, which teems with Folk from every court. “I’m going to dance,” I announce.

Taryn gives me a strange, sidelong look. “Have you decided to like dancing?”

“I’m going to be married to the absolute worst boy in Faerie soon. I am going to like whatever I want.”

She frowns. “Well, if I see you and it looks like too much, I’ll pull you out.”

I really doubt that. I doubt I’ll see Taryn again for the rest of the night. But I just say, “Sure,” and then disappear into the crowd before she can try to change my mind.

Balekin is the leader of the profligate Circle of Grackles, and his influence is felt in the room. Already this party is unruly, frantic, the air crackling with a strange violence. There is more intoxication, less clothing, a stronger tang of blood in the air. For the first time, I almost feel inclined to heed Oriana’s warnings. All of the rules are changing. I don’t know if Court will be safe for mortals now, but I do know that I can handle myself if things get sticky.

I do notice small signs of discontent as I move through the room. Some of the courts seem underrepresented, although I don’t think any party present would dare offend the High King by going home entirely. I spy Lord Roiben and whom I presume to be his consort, the pixie who favors mortal clothes; tonight she’s wearing what appears to be a black denim skirt. Neither of them seem to feel much like dancing, though to be fair, Roiben doesn’t strike me as the merrymaking type.

I also catch a brief glimpse of Queen Orlagh of the Undersea, who is speaking with some advisors and looking unhappy. I recall Nicasia’s words to me the morning after I spent the night with Locke and wonder if Orlagh believed Cardan would marry her daughter after all when Balekin took the throne. The betrothal isn’t public knowledge yet, but she doubtless has spies, and it must be a slap in the face that Cardan’s been promised to a mortal instead.

But having made up my mind not to worry about that, I plunge headfirst into a circle of dancers. I am immediately swept away by the current of the music, my feet finding the steps I barely know. There is a giddy terror in being caught in this undertow, one that normally would concern me, but there is also power in this being my choice. I have chosen to dive in. This might be one of the last things I will ever get to choose.

These are my final nights of freedom. I will enjoy them as I never have.

When the circle dissolves, I am passed between partners. I dance with a faun boy whose head barely comes up to my shoulder. I dance with a selkie girl who smiles at me with sharp teeth and whispers that she could just eat me up. The dance is the one place my worries can’t touch me. All there is is a beat, the slap of my slippered feet on the floor, the strange and ceaseless whirling.

Maybe this is how my mother felt, living in Faerie as a courtier. Maybe this is what she felt like, falling in love.

Maybe that is something I will never know again after tonight.

And then, abruptly, it all comes to a halt. Someone catches me around the waist and pulls me out of the dance just as we are changing partners. I stumble back against their chest, all solid, lean muscle, and my hand immediately reaches into my bodice for the knife hidden there.

“Jude,” says a voice against my ear. Cardan’s voice.

I struggle, but his grip holds fast. His error is in leaving my hands free. I draw my knife, its blade flashing in the light—there’s no way he can miss it.

“Let me go,” I hiss.

He does, and I stumble a step before righting myself. My legs are shaking, I realize, and my head spins. I don’t know how long I was dancing. I don’t know what time it is now, how late it is in the evening.

Cardan slips his hand in the crook of my arm, which has the awful effect of steadying me further. He holds up his other hand to show me that it is empty. I notice that he wears all black again: a black cape that sweeps the floor behind him, a black doublet. Opal rings sparkle on his fingers, beside his signet. The kohl lining his eyes tapers to dangerous points. If mortal mourning traditions applied in Faerie, I’d think he was abiding by them in his way. A silver circlet rests on his black hair, another opal sparkling in the center of his forehead.

In two days’ time, I am to marry him. Not that he knows it.

“Peace,” he says. “Haven’t you had your fill of stabbing? I want a word. Not here.”

I wrest my arm from his grip. “What makes you think I’ll go anywhere with you?”

“The matter of my upcoming nuptials,” he says, his mouth twisting with something that isn’t exactly a smile. “My betrothal to your sister. I would be a fool to do you harm with so many eyes upon us.”

“You _are_ a fool,” I mutter, but I slide my knife back into my bodice. Despite the warning bells, my curiosity is piqued. I don’t know why he would want to talk to me about the betrothal. As far as he knows, I have no say in my sister’s marriage. “Fine. We can discuss Taryn. If not here, where?”

He jerks his head toward the stairs, then begins to walk. I hesitate for a moment before following.

As we mount the stairs, I hear someone scream, although I don’t know whether in agony or ecstasy. The revel has grown even wilder, and more quickly than I had imagined it would. Keeping close to Cardan, ironically, seems like my best means of protection.

We pass the second landing of the great stone steps, turning at the third. As Prince Dain’s former spy, I am now more familiar with all of the nooks and crannies of the upper levels of the palace, and I know Cardan is trying to find us a good one. Some are already occupied by revelers, dozing or drinking or having hushed conversations. Two of the Folk are coupling in an alcove, and although I am not surprised, my face heats.

As far as I know, marriages between the Folk don’t require consummation, but what I know is not a lot. Expectations for a political marriage like this one might be completely different. Faerie norms are weird. Maybe it will be considered an insult to those who brokered the marriage if Cardan doesn’t bed me.

I shiver, remembering how his hand slid over my hip at the coronation, the way his chest had pressed against my back just now, suddenly very glad there has always been clothing between us. Thinking about having to touch Cardan naked makes my stomach feel fluttery and sick. I push it all away.

At last we come to an empty alcove, its entrance half-concealed by a curtain of ivy. Here, giant toadstools grow out of the floor in place of chairs. Cardan brushes the ivy aside and sits down on one. He is a little too tall, and his legs fold up at an awkward angle. I do the same, taking the mushroom directly across from him and furthest away.

There are now no more eyes on us. I rest my hand on my thigh, the hilt of my small knife still in my palm, the cold iron blade angled so he can see it.

Cardan just looks at me for a minute, head cocked. His long fingers tap a rhythm on his knee in time to the music floating up from the revel. “We are to be family,” he says at last. “Soon, I will be your brother.”

“And?”

Again, he takes a moment before speaking. “Perhaps it is time to set our differences aside.”

I cannot keep my mouth from falling open.

He continues, “If we are to be family—”

“Families fight all the time,” I say, trying to buy myself time to gather my wits.

“I am well aware of that,” he says sharply.

It takes me a moment to realize that he must think I am throwing the murders of his siblings, his father, back in his face. I shake my head. This is absurd. It has to be a trick. My fingertips are numb with fear, but I can’t let him see that. He’ll pounce on any perceived weakness.

“Why would you make an offer like this?” I demand. “So that one of your friends can finish me while my guard is down?”

He frowns. “I know not of what you speak.”

“Valerian tried to kill me,” I say simply, because I am sure his ignorance is feigned and I want to cut to the chase.

“Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid…”

“He was.” My voice is cold. I pull the ribbon on my neck down to show him the bruises fading there. “He climbed in through my bedroom window with a big knife that he wanted to stick in my ribs. When that failed, he tried to choke me. As you can see, I’m still alive. Where is he?”

Cardan blinks at me. “Is this a riddle?”

I just wait.

He spends a moment considering it, but comes up with no easy answer. I notice that he seems mostly, although not entirely, sober. There are no golden nevermore flecks on his lips, no visible wine stains on his clothing—which is, admittedly, black, and therefore very forgiving. “I was wondering that myself. Recovering again, then, from falling victim to his own foolish impulses?”

“He’ll find it a little more difficult to recover from this wound.” I probably shouldn’t tell Cardan any of this, but I want him to know what I am capable of. And, strangely, I feel a weight lifting at someone else knowing of Valerian’s murder. “I buried him by the stables. I can show you the body if you want proof. But I am not as stupid as he is. I know better than to make a bargain with the Folk. I won’t treat with you.”

Cardan blinks again, twice in rapid succession. “I had nothing to do with Valerian’s actions. If he had come to me—if I had known what he intended, I would have advised him against it. By your telling, his death at your hands was nothing less than he deserved.”

“Oh,” I say. That’s not what I was expecting. None of this is what I was expecting.

“But I am weary of bloodshed,” he says, spreading out his hands on his knees. “I am weary of fighting. I have had enough of it for a lifetime. There is no need to carry our schoolyard grudge into this next era of our lives. What I propose is not a bargain, but a truce.”

I shake my head. He’s saying all the right things, but they just make me feel panicked. I should have insisted we have this conversation out in the open. “I cannot agree to a truce.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because if you hurt your bride, I will not stay my hand.” My voice is hard, angry. I am trying to remember to talk as though he’s still marrying my sister. “If anything happens to Taryn, you will regret it for the rest of your days.”

“Even after she played you falsely with Locke?”

“Even then.”

Cardan sighs, leaning forward to run his hands through his hair, mussing it and disturbing the circlet. Then he looks up at me. Something sparks in his black eyes, something sinister. “What if I swore to be as good a husband to her as I am able? What then?”

It’s hard to keep my voice steady. I believe him when he says he is weary of bloodshed, and maybe mortal customs dictate I should be nicer to someone who has just lost nearly his entire family. But I can’t believe that he would make this offer to me after all I have endured at his hands. It is, frankly, insulting.

I return, “We both know that there are limits to your goodness.”

“While that is undoubtedly true—”

“You will be my brother,” I say cooly, “not my friend. And I promise that if you mistreat your wife, Valerian’s fate will seem kind.”

My heart thunders as I watch for his reaction. I don’t think I can scare him into being kind, but maybe I can convince him to have as little contact with his wife as possible. That will make the upcoming marriage more bearable for us both.

He just looks at my face and says, “I suppose it is what I have sown.”

“The best I will wish you is an uneventful union.” I stand, straightening my skirts, brushing off flecks of dirt from the toadstool. “Don’t slight me with an offer like this again.”

I push the ivy aside, leaving him in the alcove.

Before returning to the revel, I pause halfway down the stairs, leaning against the wall until the tightness in my chest eases and my blood stops pounding. Even though Cardan had come to me with what appeared to be a peace offering, I am still surprised to have walked away from our conversation unscathed. I remember too well how he had scratched my name into paper so hard that his ink bled, that it left permanent indentations behind. That kind of hate isn’t just bartered away with a truce. That kind of hate leaves scars.

I wonder what he will do to me if he discovers that I’ve tricked him by marrying him in Taryn’s place, and decide I don’t want to know.

I’ll just have to not get caught.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to keep up with fic stuff? Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic) or [Tumblr](https://destiniesfic.tumblr.com/)! Have a question you don't want to ask in the comments? [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/destiniesfic) or [Tumblr](https://destiniesfic.tumblr.com/ask) are great places to ask them. I'll do my best to reply to questions and comments, but I sometimes fall behind—but I see every comment and kudo and appreciate them all. ♥


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